Minute Pause

I turn into traffic, my ass still warm from an all too familiar bar stool.
I enter the flow of cars like a needle in a collapsing vain.
I am a dirty needle in a haystack waiting to be stepped on.
My BAC diluted in the crowd of suits and cells phone of people returning home from work.
Their chatter echoing off the windows of their new cars on the way home to where ever people go who are not from here.
Grasses is always greener on the other side of the interstate.
Looking over what could have been, crying at a red light.